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more complications.
          “You are well, sir?” Her voice was like crystal, beautiful but fragile. Apparently, being dragged from the coach by her ladyship’s hair did not agree with her— and where in the hell did that come from? The venom and callousness simply seethed inside me from some polluted spring. “Sir?”
          I had not answered her. That same mental closet filled with almost similar copies of me yawned wide at the edge of the Fog and I desperately shoved an imaginary hand inside. I came out with something that felt gallant, polite, and servile. I put the mental clothes on like a thief donning a dark cloak and spoke, “My apologies Milady, I am still addled. Some dreadful creature took umbrage at the shape of my head and sought to remedy it with a blunt instrument.”
          A small smile cracked her brittle exterior. At about seventeen years, her hair was cut long, held up in a complex design that almost matched the knot–work patterns of her dress. She had never been party to violence or death until now, the experience did not sit well upon her. “It would seem your blade work was not affected.”
          “Not to be contrary, Milady, but I would say it suffered immeasurably, I am now dying.” My voice cracked because of a jolt of pain from my belly, ruining the care–free tone of my words. It was for the best, though, as the princess was now really concerned. Four princesses beats four clerics in any card game in the Kingdom .
          She turned to her cleric, “Nana?”
          The old woman’s demeanor smoothed to the placid calm of a still pool before the girl had turned to see. No one gets that good at holding back their emotions from their face unless they have to; a lot.
          “His condition is severe. His head has been broken along its left side, this is the reason it swells so. The belly wound has pierced his vitals and they are now leaking foul humors into his body to poison him. He has a remarkable strength, but it will not save him. If his wounds were not so severe, I might be able to help, but alas, my talents are not up to this level of mutilation.” Maybe it was just me, friends; but she didn’t sound as if it was too grievous a loss for her.
          The princess turned to me, almost catching my questing eyes. I could tell you I was questing her body in search of an appropriate cave to place my dragon, but it would be a lie. As much as I hate to admit it, I was marking the position of guards outside from the sound of their talking and judging the chances of my escape. The pavilion was expansive; enough to fit a knight and his page, and it was furnished much better. The candelabra next to me would fetch enough to by some health from a local healer, if one could be found, but the Fog did not give me good odds.
          “Then I shall help him.”
          “Your father purchased that potion at a dear cost for your use, not to be wasted on some drifter!”
          Her highness was properly scandalized, “Nana! How could you, of all people, deny this man, who has saved me, anything to insure his life?” A silence that weighed tons settled in until the cleric bowed her head, as if in shame. I saw only frustration there instead.
          The auburn–haired girl came forward and knelt beside me, her red dress spreading about her like a crimson halo. Dipping two fingers deep into her cleavage, she retrieved a silver vial that was carved in swirling patterns, stoppered, and sealed. She broke the red wax using one manicured nail and uncorked it with the smell of foreign lands, exotic spices, and blood. She leaned in, exposing a valley of pale flesh to me between her firm breasts as the vial clinked against my teeth. The bottle itself smelled strongly of woman and I felt my blood beginning to stir, but I could not watch her. I could not take my eyes off the cleric, who saw me and feared me.
          She could not be as afraid of me